10-26-10 (though I could still use the money)

The issue is not with life - life is entirely blameless.

The issue is expectations. When I was a boy, I wanted fame, and money, and ease, and I now realize these desires were rather ill formed, and not particularly worthwhile.

Realizing this, and not having anything to replace the discarded goals with, I find myself at loose ends.

5-29-08 Wherein I ask the eternal question, "Bitch, where's my money?"

Where does the money go?

Where does it go?

I put money into the bank and find out it's already spent, and I don't have anything to show for it.

What did the bank do with my money?

5-8-08 Man's Best Friend

The beggar sitting in front of Key Foods lifts up his white Chinese take-out container over his head as the two dogs wander by, tails wagging, noses aflare at the wonderful smells this morning's rain has liberated. The wealthy looking (but slumming it: nice sweats, silver hair in a fashionable short, spikey cut) woman walking the dogs laughs at the man's discomfort, thinking he's in on the joke (oh, those wacky dogs, what're you gonna do?). As soon as she is away, his face, obsequious before, contorts as he mocks her clueless laughter. Yeah, it's just two dogs endearingly fucking around to her, but to him, that might be the only food he gets today, man.

4-11-08 Probably Ought to Get Those Taxes Done...

Laying on the floor last night, going through the computerized tax thing, inputting all my W-2's and 1099's, marvelling at how little money I made last year. The carpet was rough, sturdy, and familiar, grey and black, and used to sit in my living room in Queens.

I was terrified almost all the time, toward the end of my tenure in Queens, there. There was no way to make money, no way to pay bills, a constant stream of adreneline and bile in response to the decisions I'd made, but now, I've paid some of the Karma off, and the final few repayments are coming due - nothing I can't handle, but a reminder of what I went through, like a scar that aches a little on the anniversary of its creation.

1-31-08 Wealth. I don't has it.

The outer doors to Cipriani, a high-end restaurant across from Grand Central Terminal, are black, opaque glass, two stories high. Behind them are revolving doors, like at a bank, leading into an enormous hall with ceilings fifty feet high and a dining space as large as half a football field. I walk past on my way to work and look in, staring deep into the warmly lit opulence of table after white-linen-covered table, while small people, working industriously setting up for some event or other, place gleaming silver and starched napkins down on tables beneath warm gold and wood accents on the walls.

A little ache starts up in my chest, and I remember what it was like to (pretend to) have enough money to eat someplace like that.

1-30-08 "It just keeps getting worse!"

The panic rises higher and higher as the phone calls from numbers I know I don't want to talk to increases. The actions I take seem to make the problems more profound, and more intractable. I talk to Katie and know that I am dreadfully, horribly boring in my anxiety, and feel ashamed of how ineffectual I am being, and yet seem completely unable to stop it.

I once lived in utter squalor, in a run-down, disgusting apartment off-campus, doing drugs and getting poorer and poorer, and even though I'm clean, all I can think right now is, "it's coming for me again, and this time I won't escape."

1-29-08 Trying too Hard

I go to see another, different place in Brooklyn, all part of the campaign to move out of the place I've lived in for almost 10 years and to cut down on my commute, both to Manhattan and to Katie's place. I see a nice place, two bedrooms, uneven floors, typical New York apartment that would cost you 700-800 dollars anywhere else, but here runs you twice that. The pleasant, smiling man who shows me the apartment answers all my questions, rushes off to another appointment, and, after some consideration, I decide to take the place. As soon as I've called him and agreed to meet to put down money the first thought that runs through my mind is "Oh my God, what have I done."

12-18-07 - scrabbling for change

I tore apart my room searching for the extra fifty cents that would ensure that I will be able to get on the bus to go to the airport tomorrow to fly to Phoenix for Christmas. For a good twenty minutes I looked under things, through things, I opened drawers and boxes, but no luck.

Finally, on a whim, I looked where I keep my old cassette tapes and, lo and behold, there were two quarters that probably hadn't seen the light of day for years. I walked around the room in a big circle, laughing maniacally to myself, thinking "That may be the last money I have in this world, right now."